April Showers
by tarsus4survivor
Summary: More depth to Castiel's interaction with April in 9.03 and Dean kicking Cas out of the bunker afterward. Cas dealing with being human.


_Warning: There is some sexual assault trauma in this-nothing on screen, just aftermath and trauma._

_Also, yes, I am pretending a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was two pieces of bread-or maybe Cas just doesn't realize the inside part is important._

* * *

"You can't stay."

It's too much. The taste of blood is still in Cas's mouth, the feel of foreign, unwanted hands all over his skin. Too much emotion roiling around inside of him. He blinks because he can feel the wetness in his eyes and doesn't want it but doesn't know how to stop it. The ghost hands are back, and with them the sound of lip-sticked laughter. He doesn't want it but doesn't know how to stop it. _You can't stay._ Human emotions are so strong. So overwhelming. He doesn't know how to identify them. Doesn't know how to fight them. He feels like he's been punched in the face and the gut and he can't breathe. "What do you mean?" His voice is raw, his vision blurring at the edges, his hand is shaking so he brings it up. He doesn't know what to do with it. It falls back down.

Dean looks at him like he's the one who's been punched. "You… you can't stay," he says again.

Of course, of course, of course. Of course he can't. Why on earth was Cas expecting… He falls awkwardly, sitting on the step because his legs are suddenly weak. He's useless without his grace. The Winchesters don't want him.

"Cas?" Dean's tone is impossible for Cas to parse out. He barely hears it.

His closes his eyes, praying for this to be some horrible nightmare, but then Dean's hand finds his shoulder and Cas finds himself wrenching away at the contact. It's real. Please, father, no. It can't be real. He needs… he needs it to not be real.

"Cas," Dean says again, and there's something hollow in his tone but he doesn't take the words back. Doesn't laugh to show that he's joking. He's not joking.

_You can't stay._

Cas starts to cry. He's helpless to stop it. He doesn't want it, he doesn't want it. Cas buries his face in his hands. He'd never realized crying was so consuming. His whole body is shaking, his lungs gasping for air. He can't breathe, he can't talk, he can't stand. He curls into a ball and cries and half-hopes that it's possible to drown in it.

Dean's hands find his shoulders and Cas doesn't know where he gets the breath but he jerks away and screams, "Don't touch me!" More ghost hands crawl over his flesh. April's face looms in front of him, hair bouncing. He cries harder. Dean's sending him back out there. Alone, without anything. He'd been so desperate. Hungry and cold and he hadn't wanted it, but she didn't care. Cas wonders how many would. He'd rather die than go through that again.

"Cas, I'm sorry—"

That's what Cas had said, uselessly, after it all, when he'd realized April was victim just like he was. The reaper victimized them both. Cas will be back out there. Maybe they won't invite him in this time. Maybe they'll just take him right on the street, maybe throw some change at him. Maybe brothels don't find willing victims.

Cas throws up. There's nothing in his stomach, just a watery mess, but he keeps heaving long after he's done. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, is this normal?

"Cas! Cas, hey, look at me. You okay?"

Another unwanted hand. Cas shoves the body away, shaking and shuddering and weak. "Don't touch me!" He falls into a ball on the ground, arms wrapped around himself. "Please don't touch me."

"Okay. Okay, Cas, I'm not gonna touch you. I'm staying here. Just look at me, please."

Puke sticks to your mouth and your teeth and the smell is everywhere. Cas hadn't realized. He never wants to throw up again.

"Please."

Cas can't bring himself to move.

"It's not that I—we—don't want you there. It's just… Sam is… vulnerable right now, I—"

Cas doesn't have anywhere to go. Why can't he breathe? He doesn't want the hunger or the cold or the exhaustion or the touch-starvation or worse, the unwanted touch-he doesn't want it. He doesn't know how to avoid it. Doesn't have the means to do anything to stop it from coming back.

"You can stay with Jody for a little while. Not forever, just…"

Cas doesn't have the words to respond. He doesn't want to. But hope glimmers inside him. He shoves it down. Jody won't want him. She'll send him away just like everyone else. Cas feels numb but he can't stop crying.

"Are you sick?"

"I don't know." He doesn't know anything. Eons of knowledge all useless.

Dean inches closer, Cas can hear the shift in his jacket and jeans and boots. "I'm gonna touch your forehead, okay?"

Cas doesn't want it. "Please don't touch me." It's what he told April. The reaper. Too weak to fight her off. Too scared to know how in this frail body. She hadn't listened.

Dean does. "Okay." There's a pause. A breath. Cas takes it gladly. Dean moves on. "Can you… tell me how you're feeling? I can… Does your stomach hurt? You're healed, right, I-you're healed?"

"I don't know. I'm not dead or bleeding or… I don't know what this is." Dean doesn't move to touch him. Dean doesn't touch him. Dean listens.

"Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Everywhere."

"Uh, okay. Is it just normal aches and pains, or are you tired, or do you feel like you're gonna throw up again, or…" He rambles on and on.

Cas stops him. "I don't know what any of that means." The crying is less now. He can breathe. His shoulders and hands are shaking but it's not everywhere anymore. The tears don't stop.

Dean is silent for a long moment. His voice comes back gravelly and almost hoarse. "Do you feel a sharp pain anywhere? Like a lot of pressure at one point?"

Sharp and constant like hunger. Sharp and electrifying like a broken wrist, a different constant. "No."

"Is it like a heavy pain, like—"

"Yes." Heavy. Yes, that's exactly what this is. He's too heavy for his vessel. He might sink right through the ground, might bury himself in it.

"Okay." Dean thuds down. Sitting, probably. Cas can't bring himself to look. "You could be tired or sore or sick. Um… how does your head feel?"

"Heavy."

"You gotta give me something to work with here. Is it pounding? Is it _hurting_? Do you feel warm? Cold?"

"Cold," says Cas, "I'm always cold."

Dean mutters something. "You want to come inside… or we could… I'll be right back."

Dean walks away. Walks inside. Leaves Cas. _You can't stay_. Dean doesn't want him inside. Dean doesn't want him at all.

Cas hugs himself a little tighter. He wipes at his face, but it feels stiff and the tear trails are almost sticky.

Dean comes back, and the door doesn't close. "Come on in, Cas. Let's get you sorted."

Cas doesn't want it because Dean doesn't want it. He's an inconvenience. Unwanted, unneeded, useless, weak. "I'll just go." Cas doesn't move.

Dean sighs. "Get your ass inside." There's no bite to the words.

Cas listens anyway. His legs are a little too weak and shaky beneath him. Cas hates it. He keeps his arms wrapped around his chest, keeps his eyes on his feet so he doesn't have to see Dean's face. Dean doesn't touch him. Dean holds the door open for him. Closes it behind him. And suddenly Cas feels trapped. He makes himself smaller. People aren't as rough when he looks small. They don't always notice him.

Dean throws a blanket at him. Cas is grateful for it, even if it's only temporary. He's almost reverent with the fabric, unfolding it, draping it around his shoulders, clutching it closed with one hand.

Dean sighs again. He starts down the hallway. "Come on."

He's heading toward the bedrooms. Maybe… Cas is afraid to even think it. He can't help thinking it. "No," he chokes, "Please, can we stay out here?"

Dean swears heatlessly again. "You know what? Fuck it, sure." He heads for the couch. Cas doesn't know if he's meant to follow. He stays.

Dean's hand is a flicker of movement at the edge of Cas's gaze. "Come on," Dean says, "Get over here."

Cas comes over. He stands awkwardly behind the couch.

"You know you can sit, man."

"Can I?"

"Sit."

Cas sits.

Dean doesn't comment on how far away he sits. "You want another blanket?"

Yes. But Cas doesn't say that.

Dean hears it anyway. He leans over and pulls a blanket off a nearby chair, tossing it to Cas. Cas wraps it around the other one and wants to bring his legs up to his chest but he has shoes on. He's dirty.

"So you threw up out there."

Cas nods. One hand lifts toward his mouth but gets trapped in the confines of fabric.

"What did you eat today?"

Cas shakes his head.

"You don't know?"

"I didn't eat anything."

"Shit," says Dean, and he shifts on the couch but Cas doesn't look. "What'd you eat yesterday?"

"April—" he chokes on the word. "I threw that up too."

"What was it?"

Cas shrugs. "Some bread"

"That's it? How much?"

"I had two pieces."

"Of bread?" Dean's voice speeds up. "And the day before?"

"Whatever I could find." He doesn't want to admit the dumpster diving. The half-eaten morsels he'd scrounged up. Perhaps that's why his stomach rebelled.

"I'll be right back," says Dean. His voice is heavy. Everything's heavy. Cas can't bear it. He curls into the armrest of the couch.

Dean comes with food. Let's Cas have his pick. Cas takes a granola bar and Dean waits for him to finish. He frowns a little. "If you're worried about throwing up again, the crackers would be easy on your stomach. You should eat a little more."

"I'm not hungry."

"There's water too. You should drink some."

Cas does. Maybe a third of the bottle before he can't force himself to swallow anymore. "Thank you." He wonders what Dean wants in exchange.

Dean sighs. "This is fucked up, I know. I'll take you to the store tomorrow, we'll get everything you need, we'll open a bank account, I'll drive you to Jody's. And in a few months, the heat'll die down and you can come live here, okay?"

"Sounds nice." Cas is too smart to believe it.

"Fuck, Cas, will you look at me?"

Cas looks.

"I'll visit you."

Cas looks away. He brushes his hand over the blankets. "You don't have to. I get it. You don't want me. I'm useless. I wouldn't want me either."

"No… Just no. You don't get it. You're not useless. That's not it at all. You're not _listening _to me."

"I am," Cas says rapidly. "I am listening. I hear you, I'm listening. I can't stay. I—what do you want?" He thinks, tries to see from Dean's point of view. He's listening, right? Of course he is. "You want me on standby? Or on lore or something? I can still read Latin. You want me at Jody's, where I'm out of the way? You… What? Is that…?"

"No. I want you _here_. But that's not… we can't do that right now… This is the next best thing. I want you to figure out this human thing and recover from just dying and I want to help you. I'll visit every day if you want me to, Cas, I'll be there. I'm not trying to kick you out, I just… there's shit that I can't… I need you to trust me, okay? Please."

Cas can't bear to look at him. Can't get rid of all this darkness coiling in his chest, in his throat, squeezing like a giant snake, slithering slimily against his skin. "Okay," he says. He lies. That's a human thing, right? Lying? Not to Dean but for him. To make him feel better. To make them both feel better. It's not working. Perhaps he didn't do it right.

Dean stands. "I'll go make you some soup."

Cas watches him head toward the kitchen. "I'm not hungry."

Dean draws to a stop. Looks at Cas with shadowed eyes for a long moment. "Would you even know?"

Cas looks down and shakes his head.

"I'll make you soup," Dean says again, already turning. "Tomato, you'll love it."

Cas wonders if he's lying. Wonders how he would know. Wonders why the statement doesn't make him feel any better.


End file.
